


His Unorthodoxy

by bringtheguillotine



Category: 1984 - George Orwell
Genre: Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I hate everyone in this book, I wrote this to piss off my english teacher, Julia Bashing, Julia is only mentioned, M/M, Unrequited Love, Winston is gay, i dont care, i will die on this hill, idk what im doing, no beta we die like men, only slightly though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:41:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26886040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bringtheguillotine/pseuds/bringtheguillotine
Summary: He had known from a young age that he’d never be completely orthodox. He could preach the party’s name and messages, he could force himself to believe their obvious lies, he could work, he could remain complacent to them for a lifetime, and he could die….but no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be completely like them.
Relationships: O'Brien/Winston Smith (1984)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	His Unorthodoxy

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this is just a small slight-ly angsty one-shot. Constructive criticism is appreciated but don't be mean. Enjoy

He had known from a young age that he’d never be completely orthodox. He could preach the party’s name and messages, he could force himself to believe their obvious lies, he could work, he could remain complacent to them for a lifetime, and he could die….but no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be completely like _them_.

He had made his peace with the fact that this wasn’t something he could control, wasn’t something he could turn off- hell, he wasn’t completely sure what it was in the first place.

For a while, he convinced himself it was normal- that when Julia kissed him he felt nothing, that when his wife shared with him her genuine, buried affection he was slightly revolted- that he had no longing to attain pornosec because he knew it was all women. He convinced himself that the party had managed to successfully destroy and suppress all physical attraction in his life (that was, after all, one of their main goals).

But he couldn’t lie to himself forever.

His eyes would sometimes wander while he was at work, and he couldn’t ignore the way they subconsciously drifted to his attractive _male_ co-workers long before their female counterparts. He couldn’t ignore the way he always- ever so slightly- enjoyed his male teachers’ ramblings of the party more than his females just so he could hear the beautiful slight excitement in the voice of that one college teacher.

He certainly couldn’t ignore that single kiss his previous best-friend- no comrade- Syme had given them at the back of the school during year 10.

But Syme no longer existed, the party preached no love, but that the sliver of romantic affection in existence be shared between a man and a woman.

And so, Winston joined the Party and suppressed the part of himself he knew could never see the light of day.

For a long time, he could truthfully say he was successful. His dreadful wife was gone, he enjoyed his work at the party, and, even though he knew only lies were being shoved down his throat, he needn’t have cared. He was, for the most part, at peace with his existence.

Whatever higher power- if there ever was one- was obviously not pleased with his internal artificial peace.

Because that’s when he met _him_.

And if his mere existence wasn’t enough to drive Winston crazy- the single, fleeting, knowing look they shared during that one 2 minute hate- the one where Winston felt as if his soul was being looked into- was certainly enough to cause him several sleepless nights.  
And now- by sheer randomness and pure luck (or maybe the exact opposite) Winston sat across from the same man that had inhabited his mind for the past few weeks.

They were in O’Brien’s pantry. This was supposed to be their second meeting to discuss the inner-workings of the rebellion organization dubbed “the Brotherhood” and the role Winston would play in it.

Winston hadn’t exactly been listening as attentively as he planned. Somewhere in the back of his head, he was sure he was registering at least some of what O’Brien was saying- but for now, Winston’s attention was somewhere else. It seemed like the small dimple on the left side of the other man’s face had completely and utterly invaded all of Winston’s conscious thoughts.

In a practical manner, O’Brien should not be attractive.

There was no societal beauty standard under the rule of the party- but if there was O’Brien would be faster considered average or even ugly than he would handsome.

O’Brien had numerous flaws. His hair was unruly even when it was styled, there was a fleck of dirt on his nose, freckles unevenly and weirdly placed (on his chin?), signs of previous acne scarring and face indents so minuscule that if Winston hadn’t been sitting directly across but still close to the other man, he wouldn’t notice.

Obrien was slightly bulky, his suit fits too tightly on him and he constantly had to readjust his tie because it was scratching his neck.

But there was something- something about how the rare smiles O’Brien shot at him were crooked, something about the way his nose was slightly angled to the right, something about the way his hair would fall into his eyes- that drew Winston to him.

Everyone else could define O’Brien as they wanted- good or bad it didn’t matter. To Winston, O’Brien was the most beautiful man he had ever seen. And so, he let the words of the bigger man go unregistered to his conscious mind, and continued to watch (after all, it wasn’t often he got the chance to do so).

He realized he had been asked a question several moments after it had been asked.

Shaking himself out of his stupor he let a sheepish smile brace his lips as he asked O’Brien to repeat himself.

“I’m sorry I didn’t catch that- could you repeat yourself?”

O’Brien let out an uncommon, boisterous laugh.

Winston felt his heart flutter.

“Lost in thought eh?” O’Brien said with a toothful smile on his face. Winston had never seen the man smile so much in one conversation- it made his knees go weak.

“The idea of the brotherhood does that to me.” He wasn’t actively aware that he was speaking, but he registered his voice as his own.

“Ahh yes- it tends to do that to aspiring members. I asked where your friend- what was her name? Julia, I believe? I was under the impression that she’d be joining us.”

Oh.

Winston had to fight to keep the forming frown off his face. After years of learning to control his every facial expression, he succeeded in schooling his features and putting on a nonchalant, slightly uninterested face.

Still, for a reason he’d rather ignore, O’Brien asking about Julia made Winston rather disappointed.

Winston knew, of course, the question had to have been asked. It only made sense, and to ignore and refrain from asking logical questions while doing what they were doing was like writing a suicide note.

Still, Winston would rather not talk about Julia. He had nothing against her, per se, she was a very nice girl. But for no reason other than his sheer stupidity and fear of being outed, he found himself in a relationship with the much younger girl.

For several fleeting moments, Wisnotn had managed to forget about the girl- having her existence brought to his attention again was rather off-putting.

Nevertheless, Winston found himself providing a pre-chosen answer to the question at hand.

“She’s doing work for the Junior Anti-Sex league- she says she hasn’t been in a while and needed to reassert herself in her role as a dotting citizen in order to maintain her cover.”

Truthfully, he had an inkling that Julia didn’t actually want to be part of the brotherhood. She seemed completely comfortable with her life as it was and likely didn’t see the reasoning behind or the importance of the brotherhood.

Winston thought O’Brien might share his theory, but the man continued to sift through his papers while nodding his head slightly- to show his understanding of Julia’s absence.

Suddenly, O’Briens head lifted up to meet Winston's eyes.

He wasn’t looking at him in the way Winston would look at him through his (hopefully) subtle glances.

Actually, O’Brien wasn't even looking at him. Their eyes had met for a moment before O’Briens shifted to looking above Winston's head at something behind him.

Winston suddenly felt uncomfortable. The room was getting way too hot for his liking and, not for the first time, he was struck with just how pathetic he was.

Instead of choosing to suppress his feelings like a sane person would (he needed to survive), he had come willingly alone to this conversation with O'Brien.

He could’ve easily cancelled and come the next time with Julia, but he idiotically chose to let his impulsiveness take over and come without her.

But there was something- something about the way Winston felt when he and O’Brien met eyes briefly- it was like Winston was looking at him for the first time.

In a way, he was. Because, regardless of the fact that he had these feelings since his first encounter with the other man, that moment was the first time Winston _really_ looked at O’Brien.

O’Brien had bushy eyebrows and thin lips. The light had fallen perfectly and formed an almost-halo-like glow around the man's head, and Winston realized that O'Brien actually had brown hair- very very dark brown, but nevertheless still brown.

Winston was glad he was sitting directly beside O’Brien because if he already didn’t, he would certainly be able to hear the alarmingly loud thumping of Winston's heart.

Adjusting the lace of his overalls, Winston tried to occupy his sweaty hands by aggressively rubbing them against the pant part of his overalls.

O’briens servant walked over and placed 2 cups of a dark red liquid he knew as wine down in front of them. O'Brien shot the younger man a kind smile before dismissing him.

Winston immediately tried to cover up his quickly reddening face with his drink- because _**goddamn**_.

O’briens smile might have been the prettiest thing he had ever seen. He didn't have perfect teeth, Winston could see that they were slightly crooked.

But the way his soft smile contrasted against all his hard features, the way his angelic voice wrung out through the large room as he kindly dismissed his servant-

Winston needed to try not to look like he was drinking too fast. He needed to get out now.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, Winston hadn’t decided), the wine was somewhat of a parting drink. O'Brien had given him the odd white candy after he had finished his wine.

“Don’t want to go out there smelling of wine- you might just get jumped.” He had said the joke with a slight chuckle at the end that made Winston's knees weak.

As he was let out of the room, Winston looked back at how O'Brien had immediately reinserted himself back into his work, his hair falling slightly in front of his eyes and him brushing back, Winston allowed himself a shy smile.

Weeks later, when he was stuck in a small chamber with O'Brien and a deadly dial, Winston would continue to hate himself for finding the way O'Brien brushed the hair out of his eyes endearing still.

* * *

_Even after you ruined me for another, I cannot regret you. Even as I cleave the flesh of wanting from the bone, I hope the night sky is pretty wherever you are. -unknown_

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first fic on here and I honestly just wanted to write something to piss off my English teacher cause I hate her. I didn't edit this at all so it prob sucks but whatever. Have a good day (:


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